A deep feeling of pain that sets in like a heavy wet blanket across the shoulders, spreading through your mind as the sun begins to fall, no clue why it hurts, just that it hurts when time moves backwards, sideways, and every which way the clock decides. Letting the anger flow through the fingertips, lashing out at whoever you see. The world of dementia is set free, free to roam down endless hallways of colorful terrifying trenches. Tears coat the walls drying with fresh paint leaving a dull odor. Fires of rage push ...
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A deep feeling of pain that sets in like a heavy wet blanket across the shoulders, spreading through your mind as the sun begins to fall, no clue why it hurts, just that it hurts when time moves backwards, sideways, and every which way the clock decides. Letting the anger flow through the fingertips, lashing out at whoever you see. The world of dementia is set free, free to roam down endless hallways of colorful terrifying trenches. Tears coat the walls drying with fresh paint leaving a dull odor. Fires of rage push everyone aside, and you are left standing there trapped in an open corridor.My poetry book entitled "From Sun Up to Sundowners" is inspired from taking care of residents on a memory care unit at an assisted living home with Dementia. I have spent nights feeling helpless, frustrated and also empowered from learning about personal care of these wonderful people. This will appeal to all persons of the medical field, social work, families, and general interest of what Dementia feels like.
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